Earthquake in a Not-so-distant Land
I had almost finished writing a post about picnics, but nature intervened and I’m saving that draft for another time. Nature threw me a new subject in the form of an earthquake. We didn’t feel it here, but as a California native I know what they feel like well enough and I pay attention. We were just in Nepal last month. 
One requirement of our Indian visas is that we exit the country every six months and then re-enter and have our passports stamped, so we flew from Delhi to Kathmandu and then returned the next day. We didn’t take many photos there, but this shrine in an old part of town was striking. I doubt those watchful eyes have been much comfort to the suffering Nepalis.
I was reminded of another one of Mary Oliver’s poems, called “Beyond the Snow Belt.” I’ll put a link to the whole poem at the end of my post. Here’s how it starts:
Over the local stations, one by one,
Announcers list disasters like dark poems
That always happen in the skull of winter.
But once again the storm has passed us by…
She goes on to describe how the storm is far enough away that it doesn’t affect peoples’ daily lives, so they stop thinking about it and go back to their normal routines. The poem ends like this:
I only say, except as we have loved,
All news arrives as from a distant land.
The disaster may be on the other side of the world or it may be in the next county—if our hearts are touched, it seems close by. 
We weren’t in Nepal long enough to make any real friends, but I remember the small woman in the shop who sold me yak wool scarves—a narrow shop on the ground floor of an old brick building. I think of the manager of the hotel we stayed in, who had been part of an expedition to Mt. Everest. And of the young waiter who helped us decide what to order for lunch, in that restaurant on the second floor of a tall, cement-block building. One consequence of living the kind of globe-trotting life we have is that there are now people we love in so many parts of the world that news from almost anywhere touches our hearts. Shortly after we heard news of the earthquake, my cousin wrote to ask if we were safe, and I replied that we were far away from the quake zone and weren’t affected. But Kathmandu isn’t quite such a “distant land” to my heart… what about yours?
Beyond the Snow Belt:
http://www.best-poems.net/mary_oliver/poem12165.html
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged earthquake by Lisa
Know Your Paisley
Among the countless things I’ve learned in the past year, here’s an unexpected one: the origin of the paisley pattern!
According to my local sources, the story of paisley starts right here in our valley, where for many centuries local artisans were known for weaving soft, warm shawls from the wool of mountain sheep. The shawls, traditional winter wear for both men and women, attracted the attention of early European travelers and became fashionable in Europe in the eighteenth century.
The shawls were distinctive both for the quality of the wool, which became known as cashmere, and for the design motif called badam, or almond. Take a look– it isn’t hard to recognize the stylized almond design. Almond orchards abound in this region and we’ve just enjoyed watching them bloom. 
To continue the story, some enterprising British had the idea of copying the shawls on their own soil, rather than importing them from India, in order to maximize profits. The first shawl factory was set up in Scotland in the town of… Paisley!
Thus the almond motif was plucked from its Indian roots and transplanted for the benefit of chilly European consumers.
Here’s a challenge: Where in your home does the paisley pattern show up? Sofa cushions? Bath towels? A skirt, blouse, or necktie? Use that as a reminder to pray… for the mountain shepherds, the shawl weavers, and the shopkeepers like the one who sold me this shawl. And for me, as I head out the door, my shoulders draped in almonds.
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged almond, paisley by Lisa
One Year of Blogging
It’s now been a year since I started blogging! I’ve posted on this page almost every week since our arrival in N. India last March. I wondered then if I would be able to find something interesting to write about (interesting to me, anyway) each week. As it turns out, that was the easy part. Finding the time to reflect and compose my thoughts has been more challenging, as has connecting to reliable internet!
When I chose a title for my blog, I used a line from the last part of the poem “Starfish” by Mary Daniels:
What good does it do/ to lie all day in the sun/ loving what is easy?
It never grew easy,/ but at last I grew peaceful:
all summer/ my fear diminished
as they bloomed through the water
like flowers, like flecks/ of an uncertain dream,
while I lay on the rocks, reaching/ into the darkness, learning
little by little to love our only world.
My hope was that writing this blog would help me see more clearly and appreciate the beauty around me through sharing it. I have discovered many kinds of beauty in the last year: natural beauty, cultural beauty, and the beauty of new relationships. Writing about them in this blog pushes me toward taking more time, paying closer attention, and reflecting more deeply on the new things I am learning to love. 
But it hasn’t always been easy, and I’ve often felt far from peaceful. This photo was taken at the lake near our home. We drank our afternoon chai here enjoying the view between rain showers. It’s a calm scene now, but the place where I’m standing was under 10 feet of water during last September’s flood. Natural disasters aside, this area has been known for conflict from its earliest history to the present day; most of the “darkness” has its origin in human hearts. I’ve learned that much of the beauty around us lies beyond “what is easy” and our love has to stretch far. Writing this blog helps me see the darkness for what it is, even as I keep reaching.
Posted in Uncategorized by Lisa
Easter Hope
Easter, the celebration of life and love overcoming death, has come and gone. Our celebration was modest, as it was a day like any other for our Muslim neighbors. Part of our Easter observance was a walk in the Almond Gardens about 20 minutes from our home. The almond trees put on an extravagant demonstration of the power of life and beauty to burst out of dead-looking gray wood.
But I had an even more beautiful Easter experience: I received an apology from a friend. It came in the form of an email message, quite unexpectedly, asking forgiveness for a past offense. It was a joy to respond. What a sign of hope: our relationship is given new life!
Near our home, this old man was planting trees along the border of his field. As I watched him I was reminded that before a tree can bear leaves, blossoms, and fruit, it has to be planted and put down roots. New hope, love, and life don’t appear magically just because it’s Easter. Forgiveness is costly; the resurrection only happened because Someone was willing to die. I’ll be keeping my eyes open for barren spots, barren hearts, where the work of planting forgiveness and hope can start.
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged Easter by Lisa